Page 81 of The Glass Empire
"Everyone's wondering about us," I said. "Ashlynn. Gabriel. Your father."
"Nathan. My name is Nathan." He turned, finally, and I saw his face. He looked tired, worn, the shadows under his eyes darker than I remembered. "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to sit?"
I sat on the floor across from him, my back against the wall. The room was cold, the fire unlit, the only light coming from the window. The mobile hung motionless above the empty crib, the carved animals casting shadows like the ghosts of the children who might have been.
"Nathan," I said. "What are we doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"All of this." I gestured at the house, at him, at the space between us. "I'm sleeping with your father. I'm letting your brother love me. I'm... whatever this is with you. It's not sustainable."
"Nothing is sustainable."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on mine. "You think I don't know this is a mess? You think I don't know I'm destroying everything I've ever cared about? But I can't stop. I can't stop wanting you."
"Nathan—"
"Don't." He held up a hand. "Don't tell me it's okay. Don't tell me it's fine. It's not okay. It's not fine. And I don't care."
I stared at him. This man—this dangerous, complicated man—was falling apart in front of me.
"I'm not good for you," I said. "I'm not good for anyone."
"Good is overrated."
I laughed—a short, surprised sound. "That's the first honest thing you've said to me."
"I've been honest with you from the beginning. You just haven't been listening."
He stood and walked toward me. I didn't move. I didn't want to move. He knelt in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his face inches from mine.
"You're going to destroy us," he said. "All of us. My father. My brother. Me. And you're going to walk away like it's nothing."
"That's not true."
"It is true. And I don't care." He kissed me—rough, hungry, desperate. "I don't care if you destroy me. I just want to be destroyed by you."
I let him take me.
Right there, on the floor of the nursery, surrounded by the ghosts of his childhood. He was rougher than before, less controlled, his hands shaking as he pushed my dress up around my waist. I didn't stop him. I didn't want to stop him.
I wanted to feel something other than the guilt.
He entered me without preamble, without gentleness, his face buried in my neck. He moved like a man possessed, like he was trying to fuck the demons out of himself.
"You're mine," he said. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Say it again."
"I'm yours, Nathan."
He came with a broken sob, his body shuddering against mine. I held him, my arms around his shoulders, my lips pressed to his hair.
When it was over, we lay on the floor, tangled in each other, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of my dress.
